


Get Out of My Head

by AzureMist



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: ALSO this is rated for violence but it takes place only in intrusive thoughts, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BPD, Borderline Personality Disorder, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mental Health Issues, RanHen, Rated T for some cursing, internalized ableism, mlm, nothing bad actually happens!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureMist/pseuds/AzureMist
Summary: Henry is terrified of his own thoughts, sometimes. These violent thoughts that come whenever Hershel is close to Randall... They do not feel like his own. But there is no demon whispering in his ear.It's just Henry.
Relationships: Randall Ascot/Henry Ledore
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Get Out of My Head

**Author's Note:**

> (Comes back after almost a year of no posting) So, that virus sure is a motivation-killer, huh?
> 
> Anyways. This is kind of a direct response to all of the 'yandere' Henry stuff I see, particularly with him being jealous of Hershel for Randall's affection. Because, for those who don't know, the 'yandere' trope is just an ableist caricature of somebody with borderline personality disorder. And it didn't feel good to have one of my favorite characters/ships be portrayed as... That.
> 
> So! This is a more realistic take on the whole thing; with Henry just having BPD and intrusive thoughts, and being treated and comforted accordingly, instead of him being painted as 'evil' for having BPD traits. And, yes, this is written by somebody who actually has BPD, and is highly based off of my own experiences with intrusive thoughts and BPD-level jealousy.

There was something about this atmosphere that felt like a movie, Henry thought, but he didn’t dare lift his gaze from the counter as he pondered. His eyes stayed fixed on the carrot he was chopping carefully. (He has been practicing for years, but he still does not trust himself to not cut himself on accident.) Even so, it left the rhythmic sound of the sharpened knife hitting the bottom of the cutting board, almost like a metronome counting the beats to whatever Hershel and Master Randall were talking about in the other room.

Hershel had come over a few times, now. He had just moved in recently, and Henry was not surprised to see Randall jump to befriend the boy. Randall was the type of extrovert to adopt a group of introverts as his friend group. However, Henry was mildly surprised at how well the two had gotten along almost immediately. Hershel and Randall did not seem like the type to mesh well. Randall’s enthusiastic tone proved that they did, however; a tone which Henry could hear from the kitchen, even if he did not hear the exact words that his master was saying. Said tone usually belonged to Henry and Henry alone.

Henry told himself he did not mind sharing Randall’s joy and attention with somebody else. And, if worst came to worst, he had this knife in his hand, after all.

His attention slipped, his blood going cold. The knife slipped. He recoiled, dropping the knife and taking a few steps back from the countertop, sucking on the finger that he had cut; already bleeding.

_What… What was that?_

Henry, in a dazed state, went to look for a bandage.

Why did he think that? Henry did not want to _hurt_ Hershel. Henry could hardly bring himself to hurt the bugs that managed to get their way into the Ascot’s household! Once upon a time, he accidentally scratched somebody else while playing with them, and he cried so hard he couldn’t even gather enough breath to apologize! Henry was not a violent person! Then why… Why had he thought that? Why had he considered that an… Option?

Once his wound was patched, he considered going back to cutting food for the adult servants to cook with, as was his assigned duty. But his hands were shaking so badly, he felt there was no chance he would not cut himself a second time. (And… He did not trust himself to hold that knife anymore. Not after thinking what he did.)

He passed by Randall and Hershel on his way to his next chore. Randall greeted him, but Henry did not fully hear nor acknowledge him. He usually desperately basked in Randall’s attention; a cat that pushed his head up to meet your hand.

But Henry… He did not deserve that attention. Not now. Not after what he had just thought about, with Randall’s new friend. So he kept walking, staring straight ahead, and Randall turned his eyes back to Hershel with a chuckle.

Henry wished Randall would keep his gaze on him, always.

* * *

Henry did not trust himself to be alone with Hershel after that. He did not fully understand why he had thought such an awful thing. He would never hurt Hershel. But he also had previously thought he would never think of hurting somebody as a viable option for keeping Randall to himself, so, at this point, anything could happen. How terrifying it is, to not trust yourself to not hurt somebody else. To not trust your own body and mind.

However, Henry had managed to feel better enough to be with Randall again. To be his friend again.

(Lately, he had been worried his heart was urging him to be more than friends with him. More than best friends, even. To do things Henry was fairly sure he was not supposed to do. And of course it was Randall that made him feel this way, because to Henry, everything was always Randall. But, he digressed.)

Randall was now talking to him about his plans for the Akbadain Ruins to Henry as he collected his clothes off the floor for the wash. “… And we’d need to bring some food and water, of course,” he continued to list. “And I’ve been looking for two shovels, but blast, I can only find one! And I can’t exactly ask my father for money to buy a new one-…”

Henry perked up from where he was standing, and collected the last shirt off of Randall’s floor before turning to the redhead, who was lounging on his bed as Henry did his chores. “Oh? Why two?”

“Why two shovels?” Randall tilted his head, then laughed, and Henry felt himself smile and his expression soften naturally. “Ah, that’s right! I haven’t told you yet, have I, Henry? Well, ol’ Hershel is coming with me!”

Henry opened his mouth to say something, and he wasn’t even sure what at that moment. All he knew was that, in his mind’s eye, he was recalling all of the times he had gone with Randall on digs, and proved himself to be a loyal and enthusiastic help, unlike Hershel, who would not even consider archeology a-

“I mean, this is going to be the discovery of a lifetime, right?! Of course I’ve got to bring my best friend along!!”

The sound of glass shattering rang in Henry’s ears, and the fingertips holding Randall’s clothes went numb.

If Randall had already found a shovel, as he claimed, Henry could find it easily. He knew where Randall was storing everything for his trip. Then, all Henry would have to do would be catch Hershel off guard. Raise the shovel, then-

Henry could imagine the blood staining the steel of the shovel as he heaved from emotion and exertion. He would not let Hershel have Randall. Not today. Not ever again.

Hearing Randall say that had made tears well up in his eyes, and he was glad he was already turning to leave and stuttering out an excuse to go by that point, because the thoughts that plagued his mind afterwards were enough to make them fall.

Henry ended curled up in the room with the washing machines in it, tucked in between the wall and the dryer, sniffling softly. Oh, God, he was losing his mind. He was going crazy. He wanted to say those thoughts were not him, but how can those thoughts not be _him_ when they are in _his_ mind? It was not as if some demon was whispering sweet nothings to him. These were his… Sick fantasies. Sick, disgusting fantasies about hurting Randall’s best friend, so Henry could keep Randall all for himself. Have Randall’s eyes only on him.

He (even in the privacy of his own mind, he stuttered on this; he’s so ashamed, so ashamed of how he feels towards his best friend) was in love with Randall, so intensely. So intensely that it was not okay. So intensely that his mind was beginning to sound like how those ‘crazy girlfriends’ in media talk about their loved ones, and he was scary. He was terrifying himself.

He did not want to think about how Randall would react to those thoughts. He would probably be terrified of Henry, too. He would run away from Henry.

  
An evil boy, with evil thoughts. His head and heart full of Randall, and the most deadly of poisons.

* * *

Hershel was covered in dirt, and his expression showed an intense sorrow Henry had never seen before. Angela was showing Henry a sorrow that he had never _heard_ before, breaking down, sobbing, cursing the world for taking her boyfriend just as it had taken her brother.

Henry stared. Frozen. His fingertips twitched. His eyes were fixed on Hershel. He was frozen in shock. Of course. But he was also frozen in terror.

Because his mind was screaming with these evil thoughts, evil thoughts so loud his ears were ringing.

(You disgusting excuse of a best friend, you murderer, you piece of shit. I’d always known Randall was mine. Not yours. He was always safe with me. I was always careful with him. I should have never let you have him. I should have hurt you. I should have knocked you out with that shovel, I should have done something, because I WOULD NOT HAVE LET THIS HAPPEN. I would have protected him.)

He knew that it was not Hershel’s fault.

(I always knew Randall was only safe with me. Because I was meant to be Randall’s. Only I have known him for so long, only I know him so intimately that I would have known he would never give up the mask. Nobody knows Randall like I do. You pretended you knew him better than me. And that got him killed.)

He did not blame Hershel.

(I would have grabbed his wrist, because I know he would never have given up the mask. I would have asked him to throw it over the cliff, onto the ground, then grab my hand. I would have tended to his wounds, then kissed his lips, and taken care of him forever if he needed it. If worst came to worst, I would have gone down with him attempting to save him. You should have gone down with him.)

He didn’t mean it.

He didn’t mean it.

He didn’t mean it.

Those thoughts were not his own. But if they weren’t, then who else would they belong to?

* * *

Henry had always known the first time after Randall returned home would be the hardest.

Henry jumped slightly when he felt hands on his shoulders from behind him, but relaxed upon feeling warm, soft lips press to his cheek. He chuckled. “Good evening, Randall.” He turned away from the countertop where he was preparing a cup of tea to face Randall, and saw him ready to go out, complete with a scarf for the colder months. Henry smirked lightly and pulled Randall closer by the end of his scarf, placing a kiss on his cheek, as well.

“What are you all dressed up for?” he asked, with a playful tone. (Henry’s playfulness was just yet another side only Randall could manage to pull out.)

“Well, I see you’re already dressed to come with me. Asking because you want to come with?” Randall asked, eyeing Henry up-and-down with an equally playful grin.

Henry giggled softly, knowing Randall was referencing how Henry was already in his striped pajamas for bed. He softly shoved Randall in turn, more to make him stumble slightly than anything. “Oh, shush.”

Randall grinned triumphantly (likely because he had gotten Henry to giggle), before casually linking his hands behind his head. “Seriously, I’m just going to visit Hersh for a while. You gonna come with?”

Henry felt that feeling of euphoric domestic bliss slip out of his fingers.

(Hershel? Hershel? You want to see Hershel? When he had not even touched you when you returned? The man who left Angela and I all on our lonesome? You still want to see him over me? Still? Still? After all these years, that man is still beating me?!)

He felt Randall’s hands on his shoulders for the second time, and his shoulders instantly relaxed. He hadn’t even noticed he had tensed. Had he visibly gotten panicked?

“Henry, breathe. Breathe. Remember to breathe…”

Apparently, he had.

Henry took a few deep breaths, and his heartrate slowed down. Not enough that he felt alright, but enough that he didn’t feel like he would pass out. Once he felt… Better, but not good, he placed a hand on Randall’s, resting on top of it. “I’m sorry to worry you, Randall,” he apologized, his voice soft and desperate to please. (Randall called it his ‘servant voice’.) “I’m fine. Go meet your friend.”

“Henry, you’re not fine. Or you weren’t fine a few seconds ago, at least.” Randall kept the hand Henry was gripping on his shoulder, but the other went to rest on Henry’s cheek, and _darn it all_ , Randall knew all the ways to make Henry melt. “Do you need for me to call your therapist?”

Henry smiled bitterly at the irony. Oh, he would love to talk to his therapist about this. If he wasn’t going to be thrown straight into a ward for his violent thoughts. He shook his head. “No, Randall, I can’t.”

“You can’t,” Randall echoed, with a small tilt of his head and a furrow of his eyebrows. “So not that you would not like to, or that there is no problem.”

Henry shrugged loosely, looking away from him. He could not bare to look Randall in the eye right now.

“Hey.” Randall patted Henry’s cheek softly, and successfully got Henry to look back at him. “Pretty penny for the pretty man’s thoughts, Hen’?”

Henry grinned lightly at the phrase, and rolled his eyes. What a dork. But, just as quickly, his expression faded back to troubled. “You… Deserve somebody without… The thoughts that I have,” he explained carefully, letting his hand drop from Randall’s.

Randall rubbed his thumb against Henry’s cheek. “The thoughts you have?” He grinned; hesitant and lopsided. “Well, it’s a good thing I just said I wanted to know your thoughts, then, huh?”

When it was clear Randall was not going to go unless he elaborated, Henry looked away again, and Randall let him this time. Henry thought for a small while about how to best phrase this without scaring Randall, without terrifying him. Eventually, Henry started, speaking slowly.

“I want to be… This person you deserve. This person with a… Normal amount of affinity and affection for you. This person who doesn’t… Doesn’t get jealous. Or does not get anxious when your attention turns away. But I am not.” Henry’s thumb traced over his own knuckles. “And… Sometimes, I get the feeling that you _know_ that I am not. But at the same time… You do not know the extent of it. Because if you did, you would leave me. You would be scared of me, by now.” He swallowed hard, past the lump in his throat. “Sweetness… Turns to bitterness… So quickly, for me. And both of them are overwhelming. Both of them are… Not normal. Too intense. Too intense for a good and… Sane person to feel.”

Henry reached up again, and grabbed at Randall’s shirt sleeve with shaking fingertips and tears hanging on his eyelashes. “I’m truly, truly evil.” He was barely managing to speak at this point, so focused on not crying. “You do not deserve somebody who loves you _madly_ , as I do. Who does not think such… Horrible thoughts, at the idea of you just caring about someone else.”

He didn’t realize a tear had fallen until he felt Randall wipe it away with his thumb. (So gentle with him, always so gentle with him.) He guided Henry forward by his face and shoulder, and Henry took a few steps forward, until Randall embraced him, tight and secure. That, somehow, only sharpened how Henry felt. A few more tears fell, and he muffled a sob in Randall’s shoulder, burying his face there.

Randall stroked Henry’s hair as he spoke. (Always moving.) “Do those thoughts feel like you?”

Henry shook his head hard, his shoulders shaking from the effort of not crying too obnoxiously. He wanted to yell it, that those thoughts didn’t feel like him at all. He hated these thoughts. He hated these violent thoughts that plagued his mind.

“If they don’t feel like you, then they aren’t you.”

Henry almost wanted to pull back, and look him in the eye, but that would mean Randall would stop hugging him, so he stayed still. “But they are in _my_ mind,” he protested softly, his voice weak.

“I know, I know.” It sounded like an attempt to soothe, as well as an acknowledgement. “But I have had… Similar things. In my head. Especially when I was- ah- you know who…” He chuckled awkwardly, though his voice was still hushed. “I had thoughts that didn’t feel like me. And I talked to the shrink, and he calls them ‘intrusive thoughts’. That’s, uh, the same day I came back with my shiny new diagnosis, remember?”

“Which one, exactly?”

“Borderline personality disorder.”

Henry perked up. Ah, that was the one. The one that he had heard of only in horror movies, for the most terrifying, evil characters; the one he had been the tiniest bit unbelieving that his precious, caring Randall had, until they had done more research together on the matter…

“But why do you bring this up?”

It was Randall who ended up breaking the embrace, and Henry had to consciously work to not whine at the loss of contact. Randall kept his hands securely on Henry’s shoulders. He looked at Henry with that charming lopsided grin, almost like he was just slightly amused. “You don’t get it, Hen’?”

Henry shook his head.

“Henry, the symptoms… Fear of abandonment, idolizing and getting attached to a single person, depressive symptoms, intrusive thoughts…”

“You think… I have it, too?”

Randall shrugged, still with that small smile. “Maybe?”

Henry felt protests rise in his chest, hot and flickering, the same way he felt when Randall had been diagnosed. “But I’m-!”

“Not evil.”

Henry paused, all protests dying in his throat.

“You’re not evil,” Randall repeated, and he pressed their foreheads together; another gesture he knew Henry was so soft for. “You just have a mental health disorder. One that can get better, with therapy and medication. And one with a symptom being distressing thoughts that are not your own.”

Henry couldn’t think of how to respond for a little while. Randall let him take his time.

“You’re not scared of me?”

Randall laughed at that; not mocking Henry, but surprised. “Oh, Henry, do you remember _half_ of the things I did when I was with Descole? You’re not afraid of _me_ for what I _actually did_ , so why would I be afraid of _you_ for some thoughts that you don’t even act on?”

Henry giggled, despite the tears welling up in his eyes again. (But these felt different than before. Sweeter.)

“You’re alright. You’re not evil, or a monster,” Randall reassured him one again. He cupped Henry’s face with both hands, and just looked at him. So full of love, despite everything.

“You’re just Henry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and/or kudos, if you enjoyed!!


End file.
